Sometimes I'd just like
to be able to
speak out.

My mind is not simple,
there are many crevasses,
mountains, plains, seas.
Even I,
the maker,
cannot say that I know
where each entrance leads to.

There are eight holes,
each of various shape, size,
color, texture, smell.
Of which each lead to
differing fields.

But before
we get to each field,
we'd have to pass the corners;
sharp turns and hazy bends.
Dangerous traps and chancy bridges.
There'll be a period of peace,
but don't let it fool you.
Only the foolish will believe in such.
It'll be over in a heartbeat,
and tidal waves will continue
crashing at your boat;
rocking it,
tipping it,
flipping it.

In the waters,
deadly sea creatures
dwell in the waters;
shallow and deep alike.
You won't find much luck on the sands.
Poisonous critters creep there.
It's only natural to want
to give up;
many have.

There's no exit.
Not until the forests fall silent,
the oceans motionless,
the sky peaceful.
Then the holes start to appear.
Then rapidly increasing in size.
They swallow my trees, flowers,
and all the inhabitants.
Then, when all seems to be only
a blank canvas of white,
it darkens leaving nothing
but a quiet serene darkness.

Is that what you want?
For all these wonderful creations
to die?
Then continue,
poison me with your words.

I'm ready.